


Recalculating Direction of Travel

by Whatevergirl



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Beards, Cultural Differences, M/M, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 03:28:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1967283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whatevergirl/pseuds/Whatevergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dwarrowkind have always found beards sexy, so why does Thorin so strongly desire the little hobbit who has not a hair on his chin? Apparently, he needs to readjust his views on what is attractive.</p><p>From a prompt on hobbit-kink (post 1, page 10)</p><p>'Female dwarves look almost if not exactly like male dwarves, with their beards. Which means that on an evolutionary level, dwarves must have developed an appreciation for nice looking beards. The same way that elves go crazy for long, straight, L'Oréal commercial quality hair. Not just nature but also nurture comes into it, because dwarven society also tells them that a well groomed beard is sexay.</p><p>So what's the deal with Thorin having the hots for Bilbo? It's true, Thorin does, but he somehow has to justify this to himself/the other dwarves. Cos there's no beard on that cute face, not even a potential for one! And worst of all - he likes it! If one is a right kinky dwarf, one could say that a smooth face feels even better under your fingertips than a scratchy beard! Not that Thorin would say that out loud. Or would he?</p><p>It's the equivalent of a straight man having a gay crisis, in a way. Everything he thought was a desirable mate has been turned on its head.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recalculating Direction of Travel

_Did my best to follow the prompt, though it may not have been exactly right. Tolkien's work belongs to Tolkien, not me. I make no money from this._

Thorin frowned in frustration at the hobbit. Bilbo Baggins was a curiosity. He was smaller than a dwarf, with feet that would be disproportionally large on any other creature, but appeared to be fairly average for his species; he had had the same plump middle that other hobbits possessed before coming on this quest (though, that seemed to be ebbing away with the lack of food available); he was a fussy little thing, but strangest of all was his hairless chin. 

Thorin had always thought he despised beardless beings; even dwarrow babes had a smattering of hair across their jawline. The visible skin reminded him so much of the elves that the very idea of his mate lacking a beard had always sickened him. 

Yet, here he was. The previous night he had lain with Bilbo Baggins, pressing kisses along that soft jawline and enjoying the feel of small hands scrambling for purchase on his back. 

There was not a thing in Bilbo that he had ever truly wanted in a mate. He had always imagined his one would be a fighter, strong and commanding. Bilbo may have fierce determination, but he had no skill with a blade. He had started training with Dwalin so that he would not be pulverised when they encountered a problem, but hobbits apparently had the lightness of elves too, and was easily flung aside when he didn’t dodge out the way of a blow. 

And regardless of this, there were things about Bilbo that he couldn’t help but desire. For reasons unknown, the difference in their size moved only to enflame Thorin further. There was something about holding that body against his own, feeling so large, so dominant by comparison. 

But Bilbo was not a meek, submissive partner. He often had that bothersome twinkle in his eye that he seemed to share with Gandalf when one of them was about to do something they knew the dwarrows would react to. The hobbit had not allowed himself to be bossed around when they had lain together; despite his tendency to hang at the back of the company with Fili and Kili and to quietly go along with any decisions made, this habit apparently didn’t hold true in bed. 

Indeed, Thorin had found himself obeying the smaller person without question the night before. He had not gotten into the battle he had always expected with his bed mate, there had been no struggle for dominance. Even though Thorin had been the one to take the hobbit, even though he was larger, stronger, more aggressive than Bilbo, he had done exactly what the other had told him to. 

Thorin reached a hand out and felt the soft chin before him. Bilbo didn’t stir, thoroughly exhausted by the long walk of that day. It still felt most peculiar, the smooth slide of his fingertips across warm skin. His thumb came up to tug at Bilbo’s bottom lip, followed by the dwarf’s fingers. His middle finger was captured by soft, pink lips and suckled on, a gentle motion that heated the blood in Thorin’s veins. 

His eyes glanced around the camp, checking that no one was watching the intimate act, but most of the company was fast asleep; only Balin and Dwalin were awake, their quiet voices barely a whisper above the rustling of the trees around them, their features just out the reach of the flickering firelight.

Content that they had a moment of privacy, leaned over his hobbit and pressed their lips together. He felt the hot air expelled from Bilbo on his own skin, hidden beneath his beard, and moved his lips gently.

“Thorin?” mumbled his burglar, heavy eyes struggling to open. 

He didn’t reply, simply pressed in to kiss the hobbit more fully. He nipped at that bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth for a moment before trailing his lips over that hairless jaw. Did it count as a kink? The arousal that burnt through his body as he explored this beautiful face? It probably did. It felt so exotic, so different from what he had always expected.

“You’re going to leave scratches all over my skin.” Sighed Bilbo. “Any respectable hobbit would be appalled.” 

Contrary to his complaints, Bilbo wrapped his arms up around the shoulder of his dwarf and pulled him closer. Thorin wondered if Bilbo was having the same internal debate, if he was as horrified that his lover was so covered in hair as Thorin was that Bilbo was without. 

He wondered if Bilbo had always imagined he would settle down in his delicate little hobbit hole with a gentle hobbit wife and produced wide eyed hobbit children. He wondered if Bilbo struggled with the fact that he was attracted to a being larger than he was, with dark hair covering most of his body, with a preference for living underground and very little interest in flowers. Earlier in the day, he had made Thorin a crown out of daisies, placing it carefully on his head. He had weaved in the flower of a forget-me-not and the flowers from a lily-of-the-valley. 

The hobbit had happily chattered about how the berries of this plant were poisonous, and how different flowers had different meanings, and had then started talking about his mother and how she had courted his father.

Thorin had sat silently, allowing the young, attractive creature to weave flowers into his hair. His nephews had grinned widely at him and wiggled their eyebrows, but he had scowled a warning at them. 

Now, lying over the dainty body, listening to mumbled complaints about red marks, Thorin found he liked the idea. Bilbo had claimed him using flowers, and now he could claim Bilbo in a way he could no other dwarf: he would leave these marks all over his hobbit’s skin, red and sore and there to show the world who this delightful thing belonged to. 

“Thorin…” he whimpered quietly, legs coming up to wrap around his lover’s waist. 

Thorin didn’t reply, he just bit down on Bilbo’s jaw. The mark would be highly visible, no amount of readjusting clothing would be able to hide it. The thought that it was where he had always thought his lover would have a beard was arousing. He leaned in and soothed the mark with his tongue, slowly thrusting his hips forwards as the hobbit pushed up against him. 

“They’re not looking, right?” Bilbo was nuzzling his face into Thorin’s neck, using his own teeth to bite gently at the king under the mountain. A quick glance showed that Balin and Dwalin now had their backs facing the two, and had probably noticed their intentions earlier on. 

“Do not worry, my little hobbit. They are not watching.” Thorin was startled by how rough his voice was, how low and scratchy. He cared not though, instead turning his focus on the body beneath him.

 

He rolled over, pulling Bilbo with him so that the hobbit was sat straddling his groin, an arousing heat that covered his cock. He reached up and began to unfasten his lover’s clothing, eager to see the pale, hairless flesh. 

He was gorgeous. As Bilbo used the oil to prepare himself, Thorin stared shamelessly, drinking in his fill. There was a deep flush spreading down the hobbit’s chest, wonderfully visible due to the lack of clothing, and the lack of hair. There was sweat glistening on the pale skin of his torso, drawing his attention to the pointed nipples that were sticking out of his chest.

The king lifted his hand and scraped a nail across one. Bilbo groaned softly, pushing his chest out to meet the touch. Thorin could feel his jaw go slack as he rolled the same bud between a finger and thumb. The pretty hobbit gasped bringing his slick hand round to the front so he could steady himself on Thorin’s chest. 

It was strange how evident the difference between the two nipples was, one swollen with the harsh tugging, the other pointed with arousal, but a softer pink and not so fattened. He thrilled in the fact that it was so visible on his hobbit’s body. How had the advantage of a lack of hair never occurred to him before?

“Ho-Hold still!” demanded Bilbo, his face flushed a deep colour as he shifted up onto his knees. 

Thorin was perfectly happy to give him aid in getting up high enough to accept his cock into his hot, tight, little body. Bilbo dropped down, Thorin’s cock plunging deep into his body. The hobbit let out a growling cry that any dwarf would be proud of before beginning to bounce. The fierce intensity in Bilbo’s eyes went beyond merely attractive. It was more beguiling than anything Thorin had ever witnessed and he growled loudly, turning and pushing Bilbo to the ground.

As he took his mate, thrusting roughly into his smaller body, Thorin stared into those alluring eyes. He held their gaze as he took pleasure in the soft skin and yielding flesh of their owner. When Bilbo shut them with the strength of his orgasm, Thorin felt momentarily bereft, as though something was missing, but the clenching of Bilbo’s body distracted him and he leaned in to place a bite next to his earlier one on his lover’s jaw. 

As he continued to piston his hips, he felt a small hand run over his jawline, rubbing over the coarse hairs of his beard.

“I love that you have this.” Muttered Bilbo softly. “You’re like some great hairy bear.”

While being compared to a bear was not something Thorin had ever considered an appropriate thing to say during intercourse, the utter affection in the hobbit’s voice sent him spilling over and into his lover’s body with a roar that would have, admittedly, fit a wild animal.


End file.
